Draco Malfoy and the Goblet of Fire
by QueenofConstellations
Summary: "I've seen you with your friends, and they don't seem like friends to me. You didn't have anyone to talk to, so you were drowning by yourself. I thought I would help because I don't like to see people having to deal with rough things on their own." Dramione AU where Draco was chosen by the Goblet instead of Harry.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hey everybody, sorry I haven't posted on my other story in a while, I was on vacation. But I got struck with this idea last night while I was watching the Goblet of Fire and I thought, "What would happen if Draco had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire instead?" Now, this won't be exacccctly like the movie or the book, so don't crucify me if it's a little different, but I wanted to explore this idea. _

_Disclaimer: This isn't mine. _

**Chapter One: The Goblet**

Draco Malfoy was glad there was an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. Despite his boastings to Crabbe and Goyle, the last thing he wanted was to put his name in a giant cup that spit fire and have to participate in deadly tasks. He had heard stories from Father; people didn't just get hurt in this tournament, they died in it.

"Are you going to try to get around the Age Line, Draco?" Goyle asked, his mouth full to bursting with shepherd's pie. Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"I'm not a bloody idiot, Goyle, not that you would know the difference," he snapped. "Didn't you see what happened to the twins? No, my day will come," he let his voice trail off into nothing, hoping that his wistful tone of oncoming daydreams would dissuade his cronies from continuing to pester him.

"But you said you wanted to do it," Crabbe insisted. "You said you wanted to show Saint Potter that you could blunder around and still do better than he would."

"Yes, thank you for the recap, Crabbe," Draco rolled his eyes, "But there's an age limit, which means I can't put my name in."

Without waiting for either of them to respond, he snatched a green apple from the pile in front of him and swept out of the Great Hall, his robes billowing behind him, not unlike Professor Snape.

As he left, a tall, dark haired Slytherin girl watched him go, a small smirk creeping onto her lips.

**DM&GOF**

Close to midnight, the Goblet of Fire was completely deserted, its blue flames licking the sides of the ornate cup with no one to watch. Imogen watched it for a while, entranced by the curling of the flames along the edges, a small piece of parchment clutched in her fist.

It wasn't that she needed to psych herself up or anything; she had a mission to complete, and complete it she would. But she just wanted to enjoy it. Her first taste of rebellion, coming from the ultimate spigot of misbehaving.

She laughed to herself. Her father would murder her if he could see her now. He spent years trying to keep himself out of the Great Wizarding War, and was ultimately relieved when it looked like it was over. But she knew better.

The Dark Lord wasn't dead, he was just biding his time. He was looking for new recruits; so many of his former Death Eaters had deserted him when he fell, looking to save their own hides.

Imogen Stretten came from an unremarkable family, with an average amount of money and pureblood. While her blood status helped her gain prestige in her house, it wasn't enough without money. Her family was middle-class in a sea of the obscenely wealthy. She was an average looking girl, with watery blue eyes and dark hair; she was in the middle of her class, rather usual. She was tired of those adjectives.

Unremarkable. Middle-class. Average. Usual.

Today, she was going to become one of the Dark Lord's most loyal followers, and he would make her remarkable, he promised. He would teach her the Dark Arts and how to control them.

And when he died, he promised, she would be the next Dark Lord.

Imogen was the epitome of Slytherin, she thought. Her ambition overrode her need of anything else; she was used to manipulating her way into things she needed. She had managed to manipulate her parents into letting her come to Hogwarts instead of sending her to Beauxbatons. She managed to find the Dark Lord where others had not, though that had been purely by accident. This would be her ultimate manipulation yet.

With sudden bravery, Imogen stepped over the Age Line and dropped the piece of parchment into the greedy flames, snatching her hand back when the blue tendrils crept up to her fingers.

Her rise began today.

**DM&GOF**

Draco watched almost absently as the flames to the Goblet of Fire turned blood red and spat out a singed piece of parchment. He turned his eyes to the people greedily watching the goings on.

Crabbe and Goyle, caught up in the eternal glory of it all, watched with rapt attention. Many of the younger students looked almost bored, knowing without a doubt that their names were not coming out of the goblet.

With a flourish, Dumbledore caught the still smoking paper and unfolded it carefully. "The Durmstrang champion is…Victor Krum!"

An uproar of masculine voices eclipsed the polite clapping of the other two schools, and Victor Krum, duck footed and flat faced, pumped his fist in satisfaction and strutted out of the room as gracefully as he could to the champion's chamber to await instructions.

Almost as soon as he was gone, the cup's flames changed once more from cool blue to raging red and the warmth spread throughout the Hall. Draco rolled up his sleeves. A small, round piece of parchment drifted slowly and gracefully to Dumbledore's waiting hand.

"The Beauxbatons champion is…Fleur Delacour!"

A girl of unimaginable beauty let her perfect smile light up her already beautiful face. Her friends watched jealously as she walked, more like floated, to Dumbledore to shake his hand. Dumbledore beamed at her, seemingly just as charmed by her as everyone else, and directed her to the champion's chambers. She left, her skirts flowing around her like smooth water. Draco watched her go unabashedly; everyone else was too.

By the time her silky silver hair turned the corner, the goblet was already spewing another name, this time the name of the Hogwarts champion. A hush fell on the hall, and even Draco found himself riveted by the slow descent of the paper to Dumbledore's hand. He tried to quickly think of the Hogwarts students that had put their name but came up empty. He had been avoiding the cup to squelch the rumors that he was going to put his name in despite the age restriction.

"The Hogwarts champion is…Cedric Diggory!"

The room erupted in shouts, whoops and hollers, as Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff ladies man, stood up and shook his Headmaster's hand. Draco watched as he waved to his fellow students, his smile humble but charming, and suddenly wished that he had this chance. He would've liked to hear the school cheer for him, even if it was just because he was their only champion and they had no choice.

Cedric turned and went the way of the other champions.

"Very well," Dumbledore said loudly, silence falling in wake of his voice. "Our three champions have been chosen. They will face three tasks and will be scored in accordance to their magical abilities and other factors."

As he spoke, the room, tinted blue and soft, turned a dark red. Alarmed, Dumbledore turned once more to the goblet. Its flames were higher than ever before, and suddenly, a cacophony filled the room to a boiling point. Students were screaming, covering their faces and flinching in their seats, trying to protect themselves. Dumbledore himself was cringing away from the heat and light, his hands over his face. Draco found himself watching with sick anticipation.

Why were the flames red again? What could this mean?

On the other side of the goblet, Mad Eye Moody was watching him closely. For reasons even he couldn't understand, Draco turned away from the light to look more like his fellow students.

A piece of parchment flew from the flames, this time sailing down to Dumbledore, who caught it cautiously. He wrenched it open violently, and from where Draco was sitting, even he could feel the tension in the room double.

"Draco Malfoy," he said quietly. Immediately, Draco's arms and legs went numb. He sank into his seat, shielding himself from what was surely a sick joke.

"Draco Malfoy!" Dumbledore roared, the students flinching away from his booming voice. Crabbe and Goyle turned in their seats to look in rapture at their leader. Draco felt his face go ashen, even more than usual.

There was nothing he could do but get up and walk to the Headmaster. So he did, legs shaking and hands clammy. Dumbledore was watching him with an almost morbid curiosity, his blue eyes probing and questioning. Without shaking Draco's hand, Dumbledore motioned to the champion's chamber.

Draco thought he was going to faint. The corridor to the door seemed longer than he could manage, and the malicious whispers were starting to get louder.

"He's a cheat!"

"He's not even seventeen yet!"

"Bloody Malfoy!"

"What the Merlin is he playing at?!"

His eyes turned almost robotically at the sounds as he isolated them, coming at once to a stop at Ronald Weasley, who looked livid. Harry Potter, sitting beside him, looked confused but not angry, and Hermione Granger looked, if possible, concerned.

Quickly, he turned away from them and back to his walk of humiliation to the chamber that would surely mean the death of him.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you guys for the follows and favorites and reviews on the first chapter! I'm very happy about getting some eyes to see this new story!_

_Disclaimer: JKR is the owner of this masterpiece, I just cry my tears on it. _

**Chapter Two: How Did You Do It? **

The room the champions were sent to was bitterly cold. Draco quickly unrolled his sleeves and tucked his clammy hands in his pockets, his shoulders beginning to quiver at the cold. Fleur looked up at his entrance, fixing him with eyes so pure and blue that he almost tripped over his own feet despite himself. Krum, who was inspecting the objects hanging from the ceiling and adorning the shelves, did not acknowledge him. Cedric gave him a single nod marred by the question marks in his eyes.

"'ave you come to fetch us?" Fleur asked in her French accent. "Do ze want us back in zee 'all?"

Draco shook his head but could find no words to say to her. She looked confused, then disdainful, and turned away. Cedric watched him closely, and he was soon joined by Krum.

"Vat iz happening?" he asked impatiently. Again, Draco could not respond.

A flurry of sound descended slowly upon the chamber and erupted all at once. First through the door was Barty Crouch Sr., his hands twitching nervously. Next was Igor Karkaroff, who took a spot up next to his star pupil, glaring maliciously at Draco. Next was Madame Maxim, the great hulking woman. She, unlike the men, made straight for Draco.

"'ow did you do eet?" she asked. "Why would you put your name in ze goblet?"

Fleur, Cedric, and Krum all turned to look at him, shock etched on all their faces. Draco felt claustrophobia setting in.

"I didn't," he insisted. "I didn't do it."

Albus Dumbledore was the last through the door, bringing with him an ominous presence that Draco immediately shirked away from.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?" he roared, advancing menacingly on Draco. Draco shoved himself as far backwards as he could before he collided with the shelves of breakable objects. Dumbledore grabbed him by the collar and wrenched his face towards his, searching Draco's eyes for the truth.

"No, sir," Draco said desperately. "I didn't."

"But of course ee is lyeeng," Maxim protested, her arm around Fleur.

"I'm not lying!" Draco protested. "I wouldn't even know how to put my name in it."

Dumbledore's eyes never left his. "Did you ask an older student to do it for you?"

Draco paused. "That works?"

Dumbledore released him and paced back to the group of adults, quickly consolidating around Barty Crouch Sr. Crouch looked perturbed but mostly determined, his hands clenched into fists but still twitching slightly. He was watching Draco closely, his eyes raking over his face, looking for any sign of deception. Draco met his eyes challengingly. After only a few seconds, Crouch looked away and back to Dumbledore, who was watching him.

"It's up to you, Barty," Dumbledore said, his voice practically soothing.

Crouch looked like there was no question and Draco felt relief spread through his limbs. They weren't going to let him compete. He would be able to go back to his friends and boast that he had been chosen, but they didn't let him do it. That wouldn't hurt his reputation, right? He would be a badass. Hope was rapidly filling him up.

"There can be no denying that the Goblet of Fire chose him," Crouch began. Draco felt himself puff up a little at the implied compliment. "Whether he put his name in the goblet or not."

Yes, indeed, Draco smirked to himself. I was chosen and I didn't even try. Take that, Diggory!

"But –"

Draco paused in his mental victory dance. But? What but?

"Whether or not he himself put in his name is of no consequence. He was chosen, and that creates a binding magical contract." Crouch turned his lifeless eyes on Draco. "He must compete."

The world shook under Draco's feet, and he had to lean against the shelf to steady himself. "But I didn't put my name in the goblet," he heard his voice protest weakly.

Igor Karkaroff glared at him as if he didn't believe him, and Draco didn't blame him. If he was watching this as an outsider, he would think he did it too. Dumbledore rested his hand on Draco's shoulder for only a moment before he removed it, seemingly as uncomfortable with that familiar gesture as Draco was.

"I believe it is time for you to hurry off to bed, Mr. Malfoy," he said quietly. "Professor Snape will walk you back."

For the first time, Draco noticed Snape, leaning in the shadows, his hand tucked into his black robes. At the sound of his name, Snape strode to the door and waited, none too patiently, for Draco to catch up.

"I have already sent an owl to your father," Snape confided in him as they crept through the dark halls. "Hopefully he'll be able to put a stop to this magical circus act."

Draco felt a momentary surge of affection for his taciturn Potions professor. "So you believe me, sir?" he said. "You don't think I put my name in the goblet?"

Snape stared down his hooked nose at Draco for a few seconds before facing forward again. "Even if I did think you had done it, I know what a horrible idea it is."

The affection quivered and died. "Well I didn't do it," Draco said, sick and tired of saying it already. "I didn't want to be a part of this dog show."

Snape gave an unaffected shrug that infuriated Draco even more. "You will need to begin to learn advanced defensive spells as soon as possible," he said instead. "There's a reason this tournament is forbidden to younger students. You simply don't know enough."

Draco felt the weight of a thousand books settle on his shoulders and had no way of shaking it off. He didn't respond, but focused on descending the green tinted stairs that led the way to the Slytherin common room.

"You and the other champions will have an interview with Rita Skeeter tomorrow at 9 sharp," Snape said at the entrance to the common room. "Dress well, and behave yourself."

Before Draco could give an icy reply, Snape had melted back into the darkness of the dungeons and Draco was suddenly alone. He had a feeling he would feel like this a lot.

**~DM&GOT~**

Draco found himself absently fiddling with the clasp on his school robes at breakfast the next morning, unable to focus on anything that looked remotely nutritious. He had been incessantly badgered by his classmates when he had entered the common room last night, the younger students in awe of his luck, the older students more than a little annoyed. Breakfast, so far, had been much worse.

All of the teachers were watching him too closely for his liking; McGonagall's face never left his seat at the Slytherin table. Snape looked more menacing than usual, his stare directed at Draco. Dumbledore, who was more subtle about his people-watching, was nevertheless attracting Draco's attention.

And that didn't even count the students.

The Gryffindors were furious, as he expected, but no one was angrier than the Hufflepuffs. The usually calm and kind House saw Draco's get-famous scheme as nothing more than a way to take attention from their leader, Cedric Diggory. While Draco despised them more than Gryffindors at the moment, he could understandably see their anger. Hufflepuffs were never known as anything more than kind people who were constantly stepped on; Diggory was their way of bringing glory to their often forgotten ranks.

He would have felt sorry for them, if he wasn't too busy feeling sorry for himself.

"Mr. Malfoy!" a voice prodded into his musings, and he turned, unhappily, toward it. Rita Skeeter, a blonde pile of curls and a green quill, was motioning at him from the entrance to the Great Hall. Whispers erupted around her and snaked toward Draco, and he sighed and stood. Cedric Diggory was already standing beside her, along with Fleur Delacour. Krum was on his way as well.

This was going to be horribly painful.

"Here we go," Skeeter cooed as Krum and Draco joined the group. "Follow me, kiddies."

She led the way to a classroom off the Great Hall, where she could have the windows open, to let in the natural light, she assured them all, but also so all the students walking by could notice. The photographer was ready and waiting, his huge camera set up and whirring. She ushered them into a weird position, with Fleur in between Draco and Diggory. She tried to get Krum to sit in the seat in front of the trio, presumably so he would look like the reigning King and the rest of them his subjects, but he seemed unable to understand her and remained standing. After a few minutes of struggling, Skeeter gave him up as a lost cause and sat Draco in it instead.

For a moment, he felt important. He felt like Krum would have felt if he wasn't so daft. But as soon as the flash exploded into his retinas, he knew that even this momentary satisfaction would wear off.

"What a marvelous group!" Skeeter purred as the smoke cleared. "Now, who would like to go first?"

No one answered. The silence stretched on into the ether, and Draco found himself unable to hide an awkward smirk.

"Ah, yes, youngest first, then," Skeeter said, her voice losing some of it's annoying humor. She grabbed Draco by the collar and tugged him into another small room connected to the classroom.

"Ahh, here we go," she said, settling down on a chair that looked like an overturned bucket. "Cozy."

Draco had to disagree, but didn't say anything. Already he was preparing himself for another round of denials, where he constantly said that he didn't put his name in the goblet, but he knew Skeeter wouldn't care.

As if she could read his thoughts, she pulled the green quill from her pile of hair, pressed the tip to her tongue, and balanced it on a piece of parchment. "Very well, let's begin. Now, Mr. Malfoy, what might have possessed you to find a way to put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Draco sighed. "I didn't. I don't know how it happened." The green quill started scribbling. He stared at it.

"Ignore the quill," Skeeter admonished. "Now, since you claim you didn't put your name in," she gave him a coy wink that made him nauseous. "Can you tell me what your parents will think about this?"

Draco's stomach clenched. "I…I don't know." The quill continued to scribble long after he had finished speaking. "Um…I suppose they'll be proud."

"And you are aware there have been deaths in this tournament before." She made it a statement, not a question, so Draco merely shrugged.

"Now, I've heard that you have quite the rivalry with young Harry Potter," Skeeter continued. "Could your blatant need for acceptance from the famous wizard have been a contributing factor in putting your name in the goblet?"

"I didn't put my name in the goblet!" Draco exclaimed loudly. "And I don't give a damn what Potter thinks."

Skeeter nodded. "Sure you don't, dear," she said condescendingly. "Do you think your famously pure blood will help you win this tournament?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Just because I have pure blood doesn't mean I'm a genius," he scoffed.

"Some would say it does."

"They're idiots," Draco insisted. "Pure blood means you're more inclined to magical ability, not that you'll suddenly become a prodigy."

Skeeter gave him a raised eyebrow stare that confused him. "What do you want me to say, lady?" Draco asked. "I don't know who put my name in the goblet, I don't know how I'm going to finish any of these tasks, and I don't know what my parents will think because I don't even know what I think!"

As Skeeter opened her mouth to say something else, Draco stood from his bucket shaped chair and stormed out, leaving her open mouthed and confused.

**~DM&GOT~**

The next day at breakfast, Draco was learning to studiously ignore the people who could find nothing better to do than stare at him while he tried to decide if eating was a good idea. But, as the owls delivered the morning post, he realized it was going to be exceedingly difficult.

The Daily Prophet was adorned with the title, "Young Champion Thinks He's A Pure Winner." Draco groaned as soon as he saw his own face on the front page, looking smug in the chair while everyone else stood.

_It seems that rumors of Draco Malfoy's arrogance has not been exaggerated. Young Mr. Malfoy is currently the youngest Triwizard Tournament participant in the entire history of the games, and he believes that his pure blood is going to be what sees him not only through, but right into the cup. _

"_We all know that being a pure blood is what's going to help me in this tournament," he said with his notorious smirk. "I just hope that everyone else can keep up." _

_When asked what his parents thought about his desire to participate in the legendarily dangerous tournament, Mr. Malfoy had nothing good to say. _

"_Who cares what they have to say about it," he said smugly. "I'm already in, and I'm glad I am." _

_Mr. Malfoy also had a few choice words for his childhood rival, Harry Potter. _

"_Potter just needs to realize that I'm better than he is and I will always be better than he is. This tournament is how I'm going to prove to you, Potter, that nothing you do will ever be as eternally glorious as me." _

_When asked what he would do when Mr. Potter saw this article, Mr. Malfoy exclaimed "I don't give a damn what Potter thinks." _

_To this reporter, Mr. Malfoy looks like a very angry young man seeking very dangerous ways of proving himself to not only the Wizarding World at large, but to another young man. Will this childhood rivalry claim a life, or will Draco Malfoy be able to inflate his ego once more? _

He sat there, open mouthed, as the whispers throughout the hall grew exponentially. As slowly as he dared, Draco turned and looked at the Golden Trio, all huddled around the front page. As if he could feel his stare, Potter suddenly looked up and locked eyes with him, the green irises furious.

He was going to get punched for this, he knew it. Potter was struggling to stand and make his way to Draco, but Granger was holding him back. Weasel, on the other hand, was whispering to Fred and George while his eyes were on Draco.

Even if he didn't get punched now, something bad was coming for him later. And it would be just as bad as the first task.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews on this story, it warms my heart; especially when it starts pouring down rain outside right before I have to go to work. But alas, rain will not melt me. So here I am, writing another chapter for you. I'm sure a couple of you are wondering when exactly the romance of this story will start, but that won't be for a while. That is to say that you shouldn't lose patience with me, because our first Dramione interaction will be in this chapter!_

_Disclaimer: Definitely not mine. _

**Chapter Three: Ridicule and The First Clue**

Draco found his paranoia was setting in deeply as the first week after the choosing drew to a close. He constantly had to keep Potter and Weasel in his view, so they couldn't sneak up on him and enact their revenge. Weasel twins were an entirely different story. Draco was positive they were the ones responsible for his school bag tearing in the middle of the busiest hall during the busiest part of the day.

His Defense Against the Dark Arts homework had somehow disappeared, and he had yet to recover it. Moody was less than forgiving. So Draco found himself trudging to the library on a Friday night, trying to forget the party his housemates were throwing in the common room, as was their custom.

The library was deserted, as it usually was on a Friday night, but Draco spotted Hermione Granger occupying an entire table with her books spread all over, scribbling madly away. He gave her a perfunctory glare before he took his own seat, at a table across from her. If she looked up, he would be plainly in her view.

He didn't want to provoke her, but he found it was a habit. With a smirk, he pulled his Defense book from his bag and dropped it on the table with a thud. With a start, Granger pulled her eyes from her homework and glared in his direction, and glared harder when she saw who he was.

"Malfoy," she acknowledged, her hands smoothing her hair away from her face.

"Granger," he replied, mimicking her tone. Granger scoffed and turned her eyes back to her essay, ignoring him.

Draco watched her for a few more seconds before turning his eyes to his new essay. Moody had not only told him to redo his "lost" essay, but also to write another one on the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Draco wasn't sure what that meant, but he went about redoing his first essay without a hitch; he had written it before, after all.

But when he got to the new essay, he found himself at a loss. What was he supposed to write about? He didn't know anything about the first task; no one else did either, he thought.

He stared at his empty parchment, his frustration rising when nothing came to mind. He glanced to his Defense book, knowing he wasn't going to find anything remotely helpful in it.

After almost an hour of inactivity, he was seething with suppressed anger. With a growl, he shoved his book off the table and onto the floor, startling Granger once again.

"What is your problem?" she growled, her head still close to her essay.

Draco wanted to retort, but found he had no anger left direct at her. "Sorry, Granger, this first task is just getting to me."

She snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. "Then you shouldn't have put your name in the goblet," she informed him, as if he didn't already know that.

His anger was rapidly returning. "I didn't put my name in the bloody goblet, I don't care what that stupid Skeeter woman writes. She's a liar."

Granger's face softened. "You really didn't?"

"I don't have to prove myself to you, Granger."

"Of course you do, Malfoy."

His anger exploded suddenly, startling even himself. "Why would I want to prove myself to a Mudblood?"

Granger's face hardened and she stood, quickly gathering her things and stuffing them into her overstuffed bag. She was moving at an alarming speed, anger fueling her movements. Draco watched her closely, surprised that she was only leaving and not cursing him.

"Good luck on the first task, then," she said snidely as she hitched the bag up on her shoulder. "Try not to die, it'll be all too easy."

His pride choked his apology in his throat, and he could do nothing but watch as she flounced out of the room, her hair bouncing in time with her strides. He was immediately inclined not to believe her; why would she know anything about the first task where the competitors didn't? But she was part of the Golden Trio, if anyone in this damned school knew, it was going to be her.

But he refused to ask her.

**~DM&GOT~  
**

Darkness shrouded the entirety of the landscape that threatened to choke Imogen on her trek through the Forbidden Forest. Her boots, already muddy with the soft ground, had begun to flop on her feet, too heavy with the earth. She wasn't even sure if she was going the right way anymore; all she knew was that she needed to visit her master.

He would be angry if she disobeyed.

Finally frustrated, she pulled out her wand and fixed it on her palm, muttering the incantation for the Four Point Spell. The little arrow spun on her hand and pointed to the east. Sighing, Imogen turned that way, making sure the light of her wand was bright enough to see a little of her way but dim enough that no one else would see it.

It had all gone according to plan. Draco Malfoy's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, and he would have no choice but to participate in the three tasks designed to test the magical abilities of the fully-grown witches and wizards that attempted them. At only fourteen, Draco Malfoy was a goner. And, well, if he managed to live to win, his success would all be for naught anyway.

The trees around Imogen started to clear, and she felt satisfaction settle in her chest. She was close now.

The whispers of the voices started within her, brought on by the closeness of her master.

_You will be the darkest witch in the history of the wizarding world. _

_You will be even greater than the Dark Lord. _

_You are extraordinary. _

The voices dimmed to a slow chatter, pushed back the presence of the Dark Lord. He was lying bundled in a cloak in between the roots of some of the larger trees. It looked like Wormtail had left to find food, leaving him alone. Imogen bent down and picked him up like she would cradle a child, welcoming the cold fingers that tightened around her soul.

-How does the plan proceed, daughter?-

Imogen was not yet used to the way the Dark Lord chose to speak to her, his voice echoing in her head rather than out loud. She suppressed the flinch, though, and answered him the only way she knew how.

"It goes well, my Lord," she said reverently. "Malfoy's name was chosen from the goblet, and now he struggles to comprehend the first task."

-Will he succeed?-

Imogen scoffed. "I doubt it. He can't even handle the pranks he gets in the halls, much less a dragon."

-Good. Lucius Malfoy and his family will pay for deserting me in my hour of direst need.-

Imogen turned her watery eyes to her master once more. "You needn't mourn the loss of the Malfoys, my lord," she said, spitting out their name. "You have me and Wormtail, the most loyal of all your subjects."

The Dark Lord hissed in response, and Imogen could not tell if that was a positive or negative response. The crunching sounds of boots met her ears and she deposited her master where she had found him, where he could be safe.

It was only Wormtail, a bag of berries and roots in his hand, hunched and quivering as he had heard Imogen's voice.

"Don't get your tail in a twist," Imogen said to his frantic breathing. "I just came to give the Dark Lord an update."

Wormtail, instead of responding to her, gave her a withering glare and turned to the bundle that the Dark Lord was currently occupying, and started setting up a makeshift dinner. Imogen watched him for a few seconds before dropping her bag on the ground.

"I brought you some meat," she said, faking kindness. While she hated Wormtail, he was one of the few dedicated followers left, and if he died, the Dark Lord would be more alone than ever. "I nicked it from the Great Hall."

Wormtail still didn't answer her. He turned to the bag and looked back at the Dark Lord, as if asking for permission. Suddenly, he was pulling it toward himself and rummaging through it, seemingly by the command of the Dark Lord.

Imogen watched the animalistic Wormtail scavenge with amusement.

-He will be dead as soon as we no longer have need of him, daughter-

She didn't have to answer. She already knew.

**~DM&GOT~**

Hermione Granger didn't often go out of her way to watch Draco Malfoy; but when she heard his name announced as the fourth champion, she felt an almost detached sympathy for the arrogant boy. She watched as his face grew ashen, and watched him stumble to the champion's chamber as if he were in a trance.

That was not the face of someone who put their name in the Goblet of Fire and wanted to be picked.

The Daily Prophet article deterred her a bit. It sounded like typical Malfoy-isms, an unnecessary away to garner attention he didn't need. But Hermione was not ignorant to Rita Skeeter's ways of manipulating words against her subjects.

The way Malfoy looked when he read the article was proof enough that he hadn't said those things.

But he had called her a Mudblood; that she could not ignore. She had been willing to help him, at least tell him part of the first task, but hearing him call her that name had eradicated all pity she felt for him. He might deserve this kind of negative attention, and maybe, if he was going to keep calling people names, he deserved to get hurt during the first task as well.

She knew she didn't mean that. She couldn't just let him walk out blindly to his death. Dragons would kill him; he knew no charm that would help protect him. She wasn't even knowledgeable in many charms that would help him, and she knew all of the charms the fourth years were supposed to know.

But she hated him.

He was sitting where he always sat, in the middle of the Slytherin table, facing the Gryffindor one, hunched shoulders hiding his face, which had quickly become his norm in the aftermath of the goblet. But he was never eating; Hermione never saw him eat.

But she hated him. Didn't she?

A piece of fruit came flying from the Gryffindor table and nailed Malfoy right in his white blond head, jerking him out of his contemplative staring contest with his empty plate. He looked around, his eyes finally coming to rest on the Gryffindor table, and pushed his chair away from the table and stalked out of the hall, to the gleeful laughter of the Weasley twins. Harry and Ron, beside her, chuckled into their breakfasts.

She should be laughing too. She should hate him.

She was still contemplating those statements while she gathered a few pieces of toast and left the Great Hall, muttering to her friends about a book she forgot in her room.

She found Malfoy by the entrance hall, waiting for classes to begin. His hair was disheveled, his tie crooked. When he noticed her approach, he looked up at her with eyes red rimmed and bagged.

"You look a mess," she said before she could stop herself.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Of course you would come over here just to tell me that," he scoffed. "Thanks, Granger."

Without responding, she removed the pieces of toast from her back and held it out to him. He glared at it, uncomprehending. "Take it," she said.

"Why?"

She gave him a glare of her own; he responded with a raise of his white eyebrows, almost lost against his white skin. "Because you're going to need your strength for what I'm about to show you."

**~DM&GOT~**

He wasn't sure why he decided to go after her; maybe the lack of sleep was driving him mad. Still, he munched pensively on the piece of toast she brought him while she led him out onto the grounds.

As they were passing the lake, the laughs of students met their ears; the sounds of students going to class.

"We're going to miss class, Granger," Draco said.

She gave him a shrug that caught him completely off guard. Weren't bookworms obsessed with going to class on time? He studied the back of her head as he followed her now quickened pace into the Forbidden Forest.

"Oh, no. I don't want anything to do with in there," Draco said as the trees loomed ever closer.

Granger turned back to him and stepped closer, too close for his comfort. "If you want to see what the first task is, then you better get over it," she said quietly. "Now hush up and follow me."

First task? "What are you talking about, Granger?" he hissed, despite her admonition.

"What did I just tell you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, be quiet. Where are you taking me?"

"You really don't understand the words 'be'and 'quiet' do you?"

He shook his head.

She sighed and slowed her walking so Draco could catch up. "I'm taking you to show you what your main obstacle is in the first task," she held up a hand before he could interrupt her. "I know, I hate you, you hate me, but…" she paused, unsure of how to continue. "People are being mean to you."

Draco was momentarily taken aback. "And?"

She wrung her hands, obviously frustrated that she couldn't communicate the way she wanted to. "You didn't put your name in the goblet."

Draco was starting to get annoyed. "You're just telling me facts, Granger, but they don't make any sense together."

"I just…Merlin! I just don't like it, okay?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you pitying me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not quite."

"But that's what's happening here, isn't it?" Draco motioned to the forest at large. "You brought me toast because I'm assuming one of your stupid Gryffindor friends threw something at me at breakfast and now you're showing me this so you won't feel guilty that your supposed perfect house is acting like a bunch of Slytherins!"

She looked surprised by his outburst, but her eyes were not angry. "Think what you want, Malfoy, but without me, you wouldn't make it past half of the first task."

"And what about everyone else? You gonna show them too?"

Granger scoffed. "Please. Madam Maxime showed Fleur days ago, and Karkaroff already told Viktor as well. As for Cedric, I'm not sure."

Draco pursed his lips into a thin line. "They all have mentors, and I don't."

Granger shrugged. "You could always have Professor Snape, if you asked him," she said nonchalantly.

"And ask him to help me cheat?" Draco exclaimed. "I don't think that will help anything."

She shrugged once more and continued to trudge through the forest. Sounds were starting to creep closer to the pair now, and the trees themselves looked to be shuddering, whether at the sound or movement Draco couldn't tell. He could see a clearing coming up with huge boxes, and suddenly, he didn't want to know.

But Granger grabbed him by the upper arm when he started to slow and pushed him forward, into a cluster of trees. She crouched in the underbrush and motioned for him to follow, her finger over her lips.

That's when he heard the roar.

_Dragons._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thank all of you guys for the lovely reviews; I'm glad you still want me to write this story! Since this story is going to follow the events of the book, I am proposing a sort of poll. _

_I want you guys to choose who goes with whom to the Yule Ball. This can, of course, apply to anyone in attendance, but I am asking particularly for the four champions. Always wish Harry had gone with Cho? Vote for it, etc. etc. I will post the options from those that you pick in the Author's Note of the next chapter and see which ones get the most votes. _

_Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. _

**Chapter Four: A Question of Faith**

Draco was going to faint. He felt the air around him quiver with the heat of dragon's breath and swayed with the aged trees. Granger kept a tight hold on his upper arm, daring him with the pressure of it to pass out while the girl was still standing. Through his fog, he could see four giant cages, and four plumes of fire emerging from each.

"Dragons," he breathed, unable to say much else. This was the first task? They were going to be set against possibly the most dangerous magical animal in the world? Whatever in the world were they going to follow that with?

Granger was starting to drag him away now, saying something about not wanting to miss all of her classes that day because he couldn't get a hold of himself.

"Malfoy?" she asked, her voice petulant but not altogether annoyed. "Malfoy, are you ever going to say something?" she waved her hand in front of his face and lifted it shoulder-height as if she would hit him. He jerked in response.

"Thank you," she said, taking that as life. "Now keep walking, that's not all."

"Not all?" he repeated weakly, almost falling against the tree once more. Granger sighed and hauled him back upward.

"Yes, not all," she answered. "All of those dragons are female, and they had their eggs taken away, which makes them particularly nasty." She continued stomping through the forest and into the grounds in her particularly burly way.

Draco felt the world turn gray and struggled to keep up. "And?"

"And they're obviously going to give them an egg to guard that you have to retrieve," Granger said in her know-it-all voice. "Now, what kind of spells do you know that can make that a possibility?"

Draco turned his head to her, and he saw in her responding look that he must look as pitiful as he felt. "I don't know, Granger. I don't know anything about dragons," he practically moaned.

"Stop being such a big baby," she admonished sternly. "You have a week to figure it out."

He gave her a look that fully said that he had no faith in himself and Granger's eyes shifted into an emotion Draco had never seen on her before. Affection? Sadness? Nausea? He couldn't be sure.

She heaved a great sigh. "Fine. Meet me in the empty Transfiguration classroom after dinner tonight and I'll see what I can teach you," she said.

Draco wasn't sure how to respond, so he just stared at her, thinking that all of his brain cells must have died of shock back in the forest.

"You're supposed to say thank you, Malfoy," she said with her eyebrows raised.

He snapped to, knowing an invitation for sarcasm when he heard one. "Yes, well we all know I don't follow the rules, Granger," he said smugly.

Rolling her eyes like she was trying to look at her own brain, Granger hitched her bag higher up on her shoulder. "I should've just let you die," she said, sarcasm in her voice as well.

Draco was much more comfortable interacting with her this way. He didn't have to worry about her being sincere, he didn't have to worry about what he said being taken the wrong way, or worse, the right way.

"And deprive the world of this face?" he replied, motioning to his own pallid complexion. "You wouldn't."

She gave a snort and turned away from him, ready to run up the stairs to Arithmancy. "We'll get the old Malfoy back in no time," she said, and this time she sounded so sincere Draco didn't know how to respond. He watched her leave, contemplating her statement for so long he was still in the hallway when class ended.

**~DM&GOT~**

Hermione was halfway to Arithmancy before she realized that she was supposed to be in Charms class. She arrived only five minutes late, but even thirty seconds late was conspicuous for Hermione Granger. She took a saved seat between Harry and Ron.

"Where were you for Potions?" Harry asked as they turned their books to the correct page.

Hermione hesitated for only a second before making up an excuse. "I didn't feel well," she said lamely, hoping her friends wouldn't ask any more about it. No such luck.

"Are you okay?"

"Honestly, Harry, I'm fine," she insisted as she pulled parchment out of her bag.

"Do you need to go to the hospital wing?" Ron asked.

"No."

"Are you sure you don't want to lie down?"

"Yeah, we can take notes for you."

She held up her hand to stop both of them from speaking. "I appreciate it, both of you, but I'm fine now. Honestly."

She turned her eyes, almost without thinking, to Malfoy, who was only a few rows back, pretending to take notes. Feeling her gaze, he looked up and glanced at her for only a millisecond before he widened his eyes, a subtle suggestion for her to look somewhere else before she got caught.

"What's going on with Malfoy?" Ron asked from beside her. Malfoy lowered his eyes back to his parchment with an almost smirk on his face and Hermione felt her face flush.

"Who knows," she shrugged. "Who cares?"

Harry's gaze stayed on hers a little too long for comfort and she busied herself with taking notes, hoping he would do the same.

They were learning the Banishing Charm, the opposite of the Summoning Charm that had been the subject of last week's lesson. Unfortunately, that meant that objects were flying about the room in a dangerous fashion. Professor Flitwick assigned them all cushions that they were supposed to use, but he didn't take into account everyone's poor aim.

Neville's aim was so bad that he was constantly sending objects of Professor Flitwick's desk flying at the diminutive teacher, who could do nothing but dodge when he managed to see the object coming, and catch himself when he did not.

Hermione, who had learned this charm on her own the year before, spent the class teaching Ron how to do the correct wand movement and surreptitiously watching Malfoy.

"Hermione, look, I think I did it!" Ron cheered, sending a cushion flying. Hermione gave him a half-hearted clap and went to stand across from him.

"Here, Ronald, send the cushion at me," she said, holding her arms out. "Use the charm to aim the object at someone else."

Ron suddenly looked nervous. "Why do I have to send it at you?"

"Because it's only a cushion, you git, now hurry up!" she said, waving her arms teasingly.

Spurred on by her jokes, Ron took a deep breath and focused. He waved his wand, pointed in the direction of the cushion and said, "Depulso!"

Hermione should have known this was a terrible idea. She thought about it in the millisecond as she flew through the air, the target of Ron's ill-aimed spell. She felt like she could think a lot of things in that one millisecond, and was about to continue her musings in the falling sensation that felt like it was in slow motion before she landed directly on another student.

"Ummmf, gerrof me, Granger," said an oddly familiar voice from under her. Momentarily stunned by the force of the spell, Hermione could do nothing but lie there. It wasn't until she realized that she had landed very clumsily on top of Malfoy that she came to her senses. She scrambled up as quickly as she could, her head pounding, and went back down again almost as fast.

"Oh, no you don't," Malfoy said, catching her under the arms. "I don't want you landing on me again."

"Let go of her, Malfoy," Ron said, his face as red as his crimson ears. Malfoy shrugged and hitched Hermione higher in his arms before passing her to Harry.

"Don't be so quick to anger because you're the one who cursed your little girlfriend, Weaselbee," he sneered. "I'm just making sure she doesn't try to pin me down again. You should probably look into that."

Ron spluttered, sparks flying from his wand, but Harry spoke up. "Ron, don't."

"What is going on here?" Professor Flitwick had entered the fray at last. "Mr. Weasley, do put your wand down. Mr. Potter, bring Miss Granger to the front of the class, she should be alright in a minute or two, she's just a little disoriented."

Harry obliged, leaving Ron and Malfoy staring at each other, both daring the other to act first.

But no one did. The bell rang in the still silence that followed, and Ron fixed Malfoy with one more withering look before pocketing his wand and leaving, shoving through his classmates to get out the door.

Harry was tending to the now fully awake Hermione. "I'm fine, really, Harry, go on to lunch," she was saying. "I'll be right behind you."

"You're sure?"

She gave him a bracing smile that didn't quite mask the grimace of pain. "Yeah, go make sure Ron's okay," she said. Harry, realizing that Ron was easily more volatile than Hermione, nodded at her logic and left without looking behind him.

"Way to piss off Ron, Malfoy," she said, ignoring the fact that Flitwick was still in the room, gathering his papers into his little briefcase, shrinking them by stack.

"It was either catch you again or let you hit the floor, and no matter how angry Ron was going to get, I didn't want you damaging that helpful brain of yours," he seemed to catch how sincere he sounded, and followed it up with, "You don't have much to spare in the way of brains so…"

She smirked at the lame attempt of sarcasm and winced at the pain it caused. "You can go too, you know," she said. "I just have a terrible headache."

"Well, I don't know a spell to fix that, so you're out of luck," he said with a nonchalant shrug.

"There isn't one," Professor Flitwick piped up. "Seems like an oversight to me."

Hermione obliged him with a laugh before standing up. She was much more steady on her feet than before. "I have a headache potion in my trunk upstairs," she reasoned. "I can go after lunch."

Malfoy whipped out his wand. "Allow me. Accio headache potion!"

After a few seconds of silence, a small green bottle floated into the classroom from the hallway. Professor Flitwick clapped gleefully.

"Very good Summoning Spell, Mr. Malfoy," he said happily. "Very good!"

He didn't answer, but unstoppered it for Hermione and passed it to her. "You take that, I'm going to go to lunch so no one starts freaking out that we're both missing. Now we're even for breakfast," he said.

Hermione's laugh echoed into the hallway as he stalked away.

**~DM&GOT~**

After dinner, Draco found Granger already waiting in the Transfiguration classroom, waving her wand absently, creating tiny little snow flurries in little concentrated spots of the classroom. Not wanting to startle her entirely, Draco cleared his throat as he closed the door and lowered the shade.

She jumped violently, sending a giant snowball rolling through the classroom. So much for that idea.

"Sorry," she said. "I was just practicing."

He nodded, not wanting to compliment her more than he seemed to do accidentally. But her magic was really impressive. He couldn't even accidentally cause a rain shower, much less a snow flurry.

"Thanks for the headache potion," she said sincerely, looking nervous.

He nodded again.

She seemed to take his silence as an admonition and nodded at it, determination hardening her features a little. "Okay, so what are you particularly good at?" she asked.

He looked confused.

"Well, it would be easier to simply build on something that you're already good at rather than try to create a whole knew palate of skills," she explained. "What's your best subject?"

"Potions."

She seemed almost disappointed. "Well, that's not going to be helpful. You can't take a potion to the task with you, and it would probably take longer than a week to brew."

Draco shrugged.

"Okay, what's your second best subject."

He shrugged again.

She looked frustrated. "Well, you seemed pretty good at Charms, so why don't we try to learn something from that subject and see if it'll help?"

"I know the Summoning Charm?" he said with an upward inflection, unsure of how that would help.

"Can you think of anything that you could summon that would help you?" she asked, not unkindly.

He narrowed his eyes in throught. He could summon his broom, but would it help him get rid of the dragon? No. It would help the dragon chase him…

"I'm not sure," he said. "Let's come back to that one."

They spend almost an hour in contemplative silence; it wasn't until Draco noticed Granger's little snow flurries making a reappearance that he felt an idea begin to form.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thank you guys for the reviews, but you guys missed the important part! I need you to vote for the Yule Ball dates. __**You get to pick who will attend with whom**__! If you're going to stop by for a review, help me out and pick a few pairs. _

_Disclaimer: This plot is only sort of mine, the characters…no. _

**Chapter Five: The First Task**

Butterflies occupied Draco's stomach tightly, not unlike the way he felt before an important Quidditch match. Unfortunately, his nerves were always diminished by the fact that he would be flying, something that set his mind at ease more than anything else. But here, here he would be facing a dragon, something that could kill him almost instantaneously.

A Bludger couldn't do that, he thought ruefully. He waved his wand experimentally beside him, muttering the incantation that Granger taught him, and watched a few little snowflakes erupt from his wand. It was a good plan, the only one he had, but he still failed to see how he was going to last long enough to enact it.

He turned surreptitiously to the other champions, hoping to see the bundle of nerves he felt on their faces. Krum's stoic face looked calm; he was tossing his wand in the air and catching it, but his duck feet were tapping an uneven rhythm on the floor, and his wand was being dropped almost as often as it was being caught. As Draco watched, Krum seemed to feel his eyes and turned his brown, dim eyes to him.

Quickly, Draco looked away, unwilling to start a conversation he couldn't keep up. Fleur was clenching her hands and releasing them, gathering the material of her jacket in her hands, clenching them tight, and letting them go, shaking the tension out of her fingers. She repeated the pattern and, suddenly deciding that wasn't expelling enough nervous energy, leapt to her feet and started pacing in tight circles.

Cedric was talking with Barty Crouch, an easy smile gracing his handsome face. Draco felt his nerves double in his stomach. Cedric looked so at ease, so calm, and yet the rest of the champions were drowning in their uncertainty. What did Cedric know that no one else knew?

"Malfoy?" a hushed whisper crept to him on the winds that battered the champion's tent. Draco's eyes slid sideways, searching for the voice without looking. "Malfoy!" it came again.

He stood and crept to the crease in the tent, where he knew Granger was waiting. "Granger?"

There was a long pause where she seemed to consider what she would say. "How…how are you feeling?" she settled, her voice quivering almost as much as Draco's hands.

Draco rolled his eyes. "How do you think I'm feeling?" he snapped in a whisper. "I'm about to be attacked by a dragon!"

Her voice was scandalized. "Well you don't have to be a git about it, I was just checking on you."

He felt bad, but refused to acknowledge it. "There's nothing you can do anymore, Granger. Just go watch the train wreck."

"I hate you," she replied fiercely. "Don't forget that. But if you die…I'm going to be very upset."

He almost laughed; a nervous chuckle left him. "I hate you too, Granger."

Her hand came through the crease in the tent to grab his momentarily. "Be safe."

He let her squeeze his hand for a second before pulling his hand away. "There's nothing you can do anymore, Granger. But if nothing works out the way we planned it, thank you for trying."

A flurry of movement startled him and he stepped away almost just as she vaulted herself through the crease in the tent, throwing herself into his arms. His arms snaked around her, a natural instinct, and suddenly they were hugging. He should have felt uncomfortable; he should have shoved her off. But he was so scared…he hugged her tighter, feeling her arms tighten around his neck as he did so. Her feet weren't even touching the ground anymore. Suddenly, a loud woosh and a flash blinded the pair and he regretfully let her go to rub his eyes.

"Ahh, young love," Rita Skeeter cooed, her green quill scribbling away. "Just think, if things don't go well today, you two might even make the front page."

Granger's face went ashen. Draco tried to push her out of the tent the way she came, before anyone else could note who she was, and snarled at Skeeter, "If that photo ever sees the light of day, you can guarantee my father will be suing you."

She gave him a smirk that rivaled his own, and Draco's nerves amplified.

Even if he didn't die in here, he was going to die when anyone saw him hugging Mudblood of the century Hermione Granger. Someone was going to kill him.

She seemed to feel the same way. Quickly, she stepped away from him, and it wasn't until there was a chasm of space between them that he realized how close she had been standing. Skeeter was still watching them, probably hoping they would kiss and she could capture it and blackmail them for the rest of their lives.

If he didn't care about his future and his standing in this school, he would kiss Granger, just to shock everyone. His eyes, for only a moment, went to her lips, parted in panting in anger at the columnist. As he watched her, Dumbledore swept into the tent in his usual flourish and gathered the champions around him. As a reflex, Granger followed Draco, standing at his shoulder while he talked.

"All of you are aware that these magical tests are set to challenge all of you, to test your magical ability to the greatest extent, so that—what are you doing here, Miss Granger?"

Granger squeaked and retreated, her hand catching Draco's just for a second, a gesture of comfort, and he gave her a quick smile he couldn't repress, and then she was gone. Draco had to wonder, in his sick mind, if that was the last time he was ever going to see her. Somewhere, more shallowly, he wondered why he cared.

Dumbledore wasn't talking anymore; it was Crouch now.

"All of the champions are going to reach into this bag and pull out their challenge," he said, his hands quivering as he held out the silk bag. Small squeaks and tiny plumes of fire erupted around his hands and Draco suddenly wanted to just forfeit. This was getting too real, too fast.

"Ladies first," he said, gesturing to Fleur. With a grimace, she sent her gloved hand into the bag, reaching for what had to be a miniature of the real dragon she was going to be fighting.

A tiny roar came from the bag and Fleur jerked her arm in response. She slowly pulled her arm out, and a tiny green dragon was attached to her glove.

"The Welsh Green, oooooh," Crouch said. Draco noticed that, though Fleur looked nervous, she didn't look at all surprised.

"Mr. Diggory, you next," Crouch said, pushing the bag in Cedric's direction. Cedric bravely thrust his hand into the bag and pulled his hand out almost immediately.

"The Swedish Short Snout," Crouch cooed at it. Draco found himself sneering at the twitchy man's enthusiasm.

"Mr. Krum."

Krum was almost instantly pulling out a tiny red dragon, hanging precariously off his glove. Draco knew, suddenly, which one was left, and felt nervous bile rising in his throat. But Crouch and the other champions were looking at him expectantly, so he, without thinking, shoved his hand in the bag.

The tiny version of the Hungarian Horntail was just as fierce as the full sized one; it's little teeth sinking into Draco's finger. He hissed in surprise and pain, pulling his hand out of the bag almost as quickly as he put it in.

"The Hungarian Horntail," Crouch announced to the room at large, but no one was listening anymore. All of the champions were watching their dragons with an almost sick fascination, unsure of how to get rid of the tiny replicas now that they had to fight the real thing.

Draco wasn't sure what he was supposed to do anymore. The tent felt like it was crumbling around him; his breath came in quick pants. He was terrified; more scared than he had been at any Quidditch match. He knew that he didn't perform well under pressure. He wished he could have Granger fight this for him. She fought the Dark Lord three times already, she could handle this by now…or was it two times? He shook his head to free it of Hermione Granger, but found her more lodged in his head than ever.

She came to check on him. He almost smiled at the thought, but he tried forcibly to remember that she was a Mudblood and he hated her. But her hug was so sincere, so friendly. He couldn't remember the last time he got a friendly hug from anyone other than Pansy.

Crouch's voice interrupted his 'I'm not thinking about Granger' mentality.

"It is customary for the host school to start first, so…" Crouch trailed off, his eyes on Draco. It was obvious that Crouch wanted Draco to go first so his favorite, Cedric, could prepare himself.

Cedric stood and brushed off his pants. "I'll go first," he volunteered, seeing the sick look on Draco's face.

"It's fine, Diggory, I'll go," Draco said, trying for nonchalance. He felt like he failed. Cedric's sympathetic expression told him that he failed.

Crouch looked happier. "Very well, follow me, Mr. Malfoy," he said, motioning to the crease in the tent. Your task is to retrieve the golden egg, as it possesses a clue for the next task. You cannot complete the next task without this clue. Points will be deducted if you smash any of the other dragon's eggs, so be careful."

Draco could only nod.

The arena was covered in rocks larger than Draco could climb; the ground a rough gravel. He could hear the roar of the dragons, far off the pitch so they couldn't wreak their havoc on the spectators. When his head of white blond hair was spotted, a silence so complete fell over the pitch so quickly that Draco thought he might be dreaming. But the ground shook beneath his feet at the approach of the dragon, and he knew this could be no dream.

Suddenly, the Horntail appeared out of nowhere, her spiky snout sniffing, searching him out. He threw himself behind a giant rock, suddenly unsure of himself. The jeering laughter of his school echoed through his suddenly foggy head. The ground beneath him quivered again and suddenly, the Horntail's back end came into his view, her tail swinging around to meet him.

He threw himself out of the way, jarring his shoulder against the rock. He cursed under his breath and moved slowly around the rock, trying to find another place to hide.

"Your wand, Malfoy!" Granger's voice pierced through the laughter. "Remember your wand!"

Right, his wand. He was a bloody wizard. His hand shaking uncontrollably, he reached into the holster attached at his left wrist to pull out his wand. The Horntail was still searching for him, crushing rocks in her way as she went.

He took aim, momentarily exposing himself to the dragon. "Tempus Nix!" he shouted.

Silence fell on the pitch, and Draco thought for one horrible, terrifying second, that he had done the spell wrong. He had only managed to master it the day before. But as his insecurities started to overtake him, he saw the clouds above him start to congregate and darken.

His spell had worked.

As the snow flurries fell, Draco eased his way out the Horntail's line of sight, waiting for the spell to work its magic. He heard, rather than saw, the dragon start to slow. Cold blooded creatures like dragons and snakes disliked the cold because it made them sluggish.

It wasn't until he heard the Horntail's footsteps begin to get quieter that he realized his mistake.

He charmed the weather so the Horntail would get sleepy and he could get the egg. But if the Horntail was a mother, it would go back to its nest to sleep on top of the eggs, to keep them warm. She was going back to her eggs. If she made it back to the nest, he would never get the golden egg.

"Go, Malfoy!" Granger urged him.

"I got it, thank you!" he shouted back to her, knowing she couldn't hear him. He vaulted over a few lower rocks, ones that the Horntail had to have crushed, and tried not to imagine what would happen if she crushed him.

She was going to get to the eggs first. Draco cursed himself. In an act of pure desperation, he raised his wand and shouted "Accio broom!"

The laughter that met his ears made his pale face flush but at the sound of his voice, the Horntail turned her back on the eggs and faced the intruder.

"Shit."

Somewhere, in the stands, Granger was saying the same thing.

**~DM&GOB~**

"Why are you cheering for Malfoy?" Ron asked, sullenly pulling his hat farther down over his forehead.

"I'm not," Hermione replied without looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the blond boy dodging an angry dragon. "I just don't want to see people get hurt."

"But it's Malfoy, Hermione," Ron said, exasperated. "Seeing Malfoy get hurt would be awesome!"

A whirring sound cut off Hermione's response as Malfoy's broom came hurtling over the grounds to its master. Unable to stop herself, Hermione cheered as Malfoy climbed upon the broom and soared high over the dragon. The Horntail, too sluggish from the cold, did not follow him up in the air, but stalked below him, her tail swinging about, crushing more rocks.

"I thought you weren't cheering for Malfoy, Hermione," Harry said, his voice something other than angry.

Hermione reclaimed her seat. "I'm not," she said unconvincingly. "It was a good spell. I appreciate good spells."

Harry nodded. "Sure you do."

Hermione ignored him, her eyes on Malfoy. He was circling above the dragon now, but deep in the snow flurries he created, trying to urge her to sleep. As her sluggishness began to increase, he used the considerable speed of his broom to swoop below her and grab the golden egg…

…and missed.

"That's why he never wins at Quidditch," Ron crowed with the laughter. Hermione shoved him. "Hey, what was that for?"

"You're being cruel," she said. "Someone could die."

Once again, Ron felt compelled to implore, "But it's Malfoy!"

Malfoy was making a dive for the golden egg again, and this time, he managed to snatch it up, cradling it in his arms like a child. The dragon, seeing she had been tricked, swung a huge claw out to the blond boy, catching the tail of his broom. Malfoy, his arms still around the egg, was sent flying from the broom and landed, unconscious, just outside the arena.

The screams and cheers were deafening, but for Hermione, they were ominous. Malfoy wasn't moving. Without waiting to be questioned again by her friends, she shoved away from them both and ran to the pitch, only to be stopped by an invisible shield, used to make sure none of the spectators were hurt.

She could only watch as MediWizards loaded Malfoy up on a stretcher and levitated him to the champion's first aid tent, wondering if Malfoy would make it past the first task after all.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I'm writing this pretty quickly after the other chapter, so thank you for the review that I received in the one day since I posted the previous chapter. Also, feel free to vote for the Yule Ball pairs._

_Disclaimer: This plot is sort of mine…but nothing else is._

**Chapter Six: The Aftermath of the First Task**

Hermione stood at the shield border for almost an hour, while the other three champions completed their task. She stood there, her eyes fixed on the first aid tent, waiting for Malfoy to come swaggering out of it. The longer she waited for Malfoy, the more her anxiety increased. She tried to remember how much she hated him, how annoying he was, and how mean he was to her.

But it wouldn't stick. Somewhere along the way, Hermione had become friends with Malfoy, whether it was out of pity or not she couldn't tell. But she couldn't tear herself away from her post. She blankly registered the shouts, whoops, hollers, and cheers that accompanied the success of the other three champions. She didn't know what the other champions did; she couldn't bring herself to care.

Had the dragon made contact with Malfoy? Did he just hit his head when he fell off his broom, or was the damage much more serious? She stomped her foot in place, trying once more to shove her way past the shield.

"I can let you in, if you think that's smart," a voice from behind Hermione made her jump. She turned halfway to see Professor Flitwick, looking sympathetic.

Hermione didn't know how to respond, so she didn't. But he seemed to understand her silence.

"He did a great job out there," he said comfortingly. "His weather changing spell was marvelous. I assume you taught him that?"

"Champions are not allowed outside help, sir," Hermione said robotically, her eyes flicking once more back to the tent.

Professor Flitwick let a chuckle escape. "Spare me, Miss Granger. I know that none of the champions ever compete alone. Mr. Malfoy didn't have anyone to help him, until you decided to take pity on him, or so you claim."

His look plainly said he didn't think it was pity. Hermione turned away from him so she wouldn't have to look at it.

"Rita Skeeter got a picture of us," she admitted quietly.

"Then does it really matter if you're next to him when he wakes up or not?" he replied. "The way I see it, your friendship is going to come out, so you might as well support him completely. Because if you don't, then the fallout will be for nothing."

When Hermione leaned against the shield, it was gone. She stumbled forward, surprised. Her eyes met Flitwick's momentarily. He gave her a wink.

"Make sure he's safe," Flitwick said quietly.

He managed to slip into the growing crowd and disappear as Hermione watched. Even though she was now free to go to Malfoy, she found herself completely frozen and indecisive. She knew that Harry and Ron were going to be looking for her, and Harry at least was perceptive enough to know she had left right when Malfoy had gotten hurt.

She was going to have some explaining to do, and she wasn't even sure how to explain her behavior to herself.

She turned back to the first aid tent; it was now occupied by all four champions, each sporting an injury in varying degrees of severity. Cedric looked to have a few burns on his face that were rapidly healing due to the essence of dittany on the wounds. Krum had a few deep scratches on his arm that were been bandaged as Hermione watched. Fleur looked to be the most intact; the only thing wrong with her were her singed clothes.

Malfoy was in the back, lying motionless on a gurney. Hermione's feet carried her to him much faster than she wanted to admit; Krum gave her a questioning look as she moved past him.

"Miss Granger?" Madam Pomfrey swept by Malfoy's bed, sparing him barely a glance to check if he was awake. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione struggled to find a legitimate answer that wouldn't get her kicked out. Her eyes fell, once again, to Malfoy's prone form. Madam Pomfrey's face softened, and she patted Hermione on the back, effectively withdrawing her question. Hermione settled into the chair beside Malfoy and watched him closely for any changes.

He had a few small scratches on his face and hands, but he didn't look like he was suffering from any outward injuries.

His hair, normally slicked back, was falling around his face in silvery threads that tickled his alabaster skin. His eyelashes and eyebrows blended almost impeccably with his skin, making his lips the one part of his face that stood out. They were a soft, feminine pink, slightly parted in what looked like a peaceful sleep. Hermione watched his mouth with fascination, finding it impossible to look away.

"He hit his head in his fall," Madam Pomfrey said from behind Hermione. "He should be waking up soon enough."

"He'll be okay then?" Hermione was unable to keep the apprehension from her voice.

Madam Pomfrey placed a hand on her shoulder, causing Hermione to look up in worry. "He'll be fine," she said. "But your friends are looking for you, and I'm not sure how long they'll stay away."

Hermione's face dissolved into more worry.

"Do you vant mees to send zem avay?" Krum asked, maneuvering his arm away from himself as he turned to address Hermione. "I don't mind."

"Oh," Hermione said, blushing in spite of herself in the presence of a celebrity. "You don't have to do that for me."

"Eet iz no beg deal," Krum shrugged. "You do not vant to be deesturbed, yes?"

Hermione shifted her eyes back to Malfoy for a second. "Yes," she answered.

Krum nodded. "Zen I vill send zem avay."

"But…" Hermione replied, desperate to know his plan, but he was already out of earshot, pushing his way through the crowd of Ministry officials and nurses to outside the tent.

"He isn't as bad as I thought."

"Malfoy!" Hermione turned back to the blond boy, whose eyes were halfway open. "You're alright!"

"It would appear so," he replied, tenderly touching the back of his head. "How did you get in here?"

"Flitwick," she answered with a significant look. Malfoy looked surprised and then nodded as if he understood. "I thought…"

He watched her closely, his head tilted as he waited for her to finish. "You thought…?"

Now that his eyes were open and he was definitely okay, Hermione wasn't sure what her feelings were. Why had she been so desperate to get to him? Why did she care so much? He yawned largely, and Hermione felt something melt in her all the way to her feet.

"I thought something had happened," she finished.

He chuckled with his eyes still closed. "Something did happen, Granger," he said quietly, his voice becoming garbled.

"Are you okay?" she asked, suddenly afraid.

He nodded even as he yawned again. "Yeah, I just feel kind of sleepy…" he trailed off, leaning farther back into his pillows.

"You could have a concussion," Madam Pomfrey said, sweeping into the scene again to check Malfoy's pupils. "You shouldn't sleep."

Malfoy looked scandalized, and Hermione couldn't keep an amused smile off her face. "But I want to sleep," he whined.

"Keep him awake," Madam Pomfrey said to Hermione. "I'll get a concussion potion whipped up and he should be okay."

Hermione nodded to her and turned back to Malfoy, whose eyes were already slipping shut. "Hey," she snapped in front of his face. "Wake up, you git."

He jerked awake and frowned at her, looking so much like a petulant child that Hermione felt a smile return to her worried face. "Why do you hate me?" he asked, annoyed.

"So many reasons," she responded nonchalantly. "But I don't think telling you the reasons will keep you awake."

"Okay…" Malfoy's voice started fading again. Hermione wracked her brain for something to talk about. Something, anything, that would keep his attention.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked. Malfoy's eyes slipped open once more, and he fixed her with a confused face marred slightly by the sleepiness in his eyes.

"Black," he said. "What's yours?"

"Green," she replied. Malfoy's face lit up at the irony, but Hermione refused to acknowledge it.

"Favorite spell?"

He smiled even as his eyes closed again. "The one you taught me that saved my hide during the task," he said. "I'm not going to say thank you because that's just not my style, but…"

"Right," Hermione replied with a laugh.

"Are we playing a questions game now?" Malfoy asked, his voice alert but his eyes closed.

"Sure," she said. "Your turn."

"Why are you helping me?"

Hermione frowned, glad that Malfoy couldn't see her. He would pull out the big guns in the first question. She considered his question, but was unsure of how she would answer.

"I don't really want to answer that," she said instead, suddenly uncomfortable. Malfoy's left eye opened to watch her closely.

"But that's my question," he insisted.

Hermione crossed her arms. "I don't care if that's your question, because I don't want to answer it."

"Some Gryffindor you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione demanded.

Malfoy's voice was stern, even if he still looked tired. "It means that you're supposed to be brave, but you can't even answer a simple question. You're here, risking all of your friendships for what?"

Hermione didn't answer.

"You should've just been in Slytherin," he said, letting his eyes close again. "All that ambition and no real bravery."

"I don't know how to answer your question, you inconsequential arsehole," Hermione burst out. "I don't know why I'm helping you, and I don't understand what I'm still doing here. This has nothing to do with bravery, and you wouldn't know bravery if it was standing right in front of you."

"Of course I would," he replied softly.

Hermione was suddenly very uncomfortable again.

"Besides, I can't be as inconsequential as you claim," Malfoy continued. "Or you wouldn't be here right now."

Hermione turned her back on him, determined not to reply to anything else he said.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked again. "At least, why do you think you're doing this?"

Hermione exhaled, her eyes flicking around the room as she struggled to think of an answer to the question. "People were being mean to you," she started. Malfoy groaned.

"You've given me this answer before, Granger," he said. "I didn't buy it then, and I don't buy it now. Try again."

"You remind me of Harry."

Malfoy spluttered. "Go back to the other excuse."

"No seriously," Hermione said, letting her hand finally drop to Malfoy's. His eyes lowered to their joined hands, but he didn't say anything. "People lie about him all the time, and all it takes is one newspaper article to turn the entire school against him. He needs help to get through all of those rumors, and he does because he has me and Ron." She paused, as if she was unsure of how to continue. "I've seen you with your friends, and they don't seem like friends to me. You didn't have anyone to talk to, so you were drowning by yourself. I thought I would help because I don't like to see people having to deal with rough things on their own." She shrugged. "You can believe me or not, but that's what you're gonna get."

Malfoy's eyes had slipped closed during her explanation, but she seemed to know he was still awake. "I think you like me," he said simply, his hand tightening around hers.

Hermione was very uncomfortable once again.

"But that's okay," he said, his voice sounding like it was drifting. "Because I like you too. You're a good friend, Granger."

"Wake up, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey clucked, carrying a cup of foul smelling potion. "Here, drink this."

"Herm-own-ninny," Krum's voice interrupted Hermione's stunned silence at Malfoy's admission. "Your friends vill not leesten to me. Zey are comeeng."

"Thank you, Viktor," Hermione removed her hand from Malfoy's and placed it on his shoulder. "I'll take it from here."

She turned back to Malfoy, who was grimacing against the taste of the potion. "I have to go," she said. He nodded, the grimace still marring his features.

"Good luck," he said, coughing.

The voices of Ron and Harry were rapidly becoming louder. With a groan, Hermione tried to put as much distance between herself and Malfoy as she could before her friends found her. She was almost to Cedric, at the front of the tent, when Ron spotted her.

"Hermione!"

She tried to look surprised that they would be there. "Ronald? Harry? What are you doing here?"

"We were looking for you," Harry said, his voice calm but his eyes suspicious. "What are you doing in here?"

"Oh…" Hermione cast around for an agreeable answer. "Madam Pomfrey asked if I could volunteer to help the champions here."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Why? She has plenty of Healers here, and you're only a fourth year."

"I volunteered," Hermione said, slightly altering her sentence. "I just wanted to help."

"So I suppose it's a coincidence that you left right when Malfoy fell off his stupid broom, right?" Harry asked shrewdly. "And I suppose it is also a coincidence that you were cheering for Malfoy when the rest of Hogwarts was doing the exact opposite?"

"Harry, I just felt bad for him," Hermione said, not realizing that her statement could be interpreted in two ways.

"So you lied to us," Ron accused. "You came here to take care of Malfoy because you felt bad for him? That doesn't make sense."

"What? No, I cheered for him because I felt bad for him," Hermione said, feeling distinctly like she was losing control of the situation.

"Tell us the truth, Hermione," Harry demanded. "What are you doing here and what does it have to do with Malfoy?"

"Herm-own-ninny vas herr for me," Krum appeared at Hermione's shoulder from the tent. "She vas helpeeng heel my arm."

Hermione turned halfway to him, her eyebrows raised. Krum gave her a smile before turning back to her friends.

"I am not likeeng ze vay you are talkeeng to Herm-own-ninny."

"Her name is Hermione," Ron said snidely. "Besides, she doesn't even know you."

"We met in the library," Hermione lied quickly. "We've been hanging out."

Harry and Ron didn't look like they believed her, but the other champions were leaving the tent and they were distracted long enough for both Krum and Hermione to slip back into the crowd. He pushed her in the direction of Malfoy, who was stumbling along, holding his head. Krum gave her a wink even as she tried to shout a thank you in his direction.

She was going to have to thank him later. But at that moment, all she cared about was getting to Malfoy and making sure he didn't say anything about their mentorship…friendship?

Whatever it was, she didn't want it to get messed up.

He turned to her and gave her a half-smile, and she felt lightness fill her. Yes, she didn't want to mess this up.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I've been pretty sick for the past week or so and it has made me feel pretty depressed, so I'm going to continue to churn out chapters as quickly as I can because this is the best therapy. I can lose myself in this and feel, I don't know…less sick. Anyway, thanks for the follows and the reviews. _

_Disclaimer: This isn't mine. Parts of the plot are mine, but not all._

**Chapter Seven: Finding a Date**

Malfoy realized that his concussion was gone almost as soon as he swallowed the potion that Madam Pomfrey was shoving down his throat. But he stayed in the bed, unwilling to accidentally stumble upon Granger and her friends and get into another fight right after he was healed from his last one. He wasn't sure why Krum decided to help her, but he was sure, as he watched the Bulgarian Quidditch player put his hand on the small of Granger's back as he led her away, that he didn't like it.

Nope, he didn't like it at all.

In the next couple of weeks, he noticed that he was starting to get headaches that he didn't get before the first task. What a wonderful souvenir of this horrible experience. He had come in second in the first task, beaten only by Fleur Delacour. His high ranking did not help his popularity a bit, and though his house was significantly friendlier with him, the other houses were angrier than ever.

And now the Yule Ball was only a week away, and he had to find a date. He knew who he wanted to take, but the probability of that happening was less than none. He couldn't ask Granger to go with him because he wouldn't even make it in the front door before Harry and Ron hexed him and her into oblivion. Pansy Parkinson, his usual go-to date, was sniffing around him, but he was less than inclined to take her. Taking her would mean an entire evening of Granger-related jokes, and he wasn't sure he could stomach them anymore.

Thus, he had met an impasse, and he wasn't sure what to do with it.

"Hermione, you're a girl, aren't you?" Ron Weasley's voice carried farther than Draco would have liked to hear. He felt his hands clench almost in spite of himself. He looked up and managed to catch eyes with Granger, who was looking in his direction. He gave a very slight shake of his head, and her eyes turned from angry to sad. Her eyes fell from his, and he felt nervousness settle in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he was also sure that he didn't want to know.

Draco turned his eyes back to his breakfast, trying to ignore the pounding in his head.

"For your information, someone's already asked me," Granger's angry hiss echoed to Draco's ears. "And I said yes."

He, along with Harry and Ron, watched as Granger flounced out of the room, her strides angrier than he had ever seen. Silently, he counted to ten and followed her.

He caught up with her halfway to the lake.

"Granger!" he called, trying to keep his voice low but also catch her attention. She heard him and stopped but didn't turn around.

"Ron asked you to the ball," he said, making it a statement, not a question.

She nodded, her back still to him. He made his way around her. She gave him a look that he couldn't quite place.

"You said you were going with someone already," he said, again making it a statement.

"Viktor asked me," she said quietly, as if she was anticipating a blow up. Draco sincerely wanted to oblige her, but found the disappointment he felt was weighing far too heavily on him. "Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he replied, his voice harsher than he intended. She flinched.

"…I don't know…" she trailed off. "I just…"

"Granger, go with whomever you want," he said. "I can't tell you what to do."

She was studying him now, trying to read the subtext in his words. "Did you want to go with me?" she asked. Draco's eyes left hers and settled on the lake, where the giant squid was lounging in a patch of sunshine in a shallow spot. "Malfoy, why didn't you say something?"

"Because I can't go with you, Granger, do you know what they would do to us?" he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer to the shady tree that guarded the edge of the lake. "Potty and the Weasel would kill me, not to mention you. Go with Krum."

She looked so frustrated that she was on the edge of tears, but he didn't know how to comfort her. "You're right," she said quietly.

"Right about what?"

Draco felt his headache get worse. "Potty, we're in the middle of a conversation," he said, trying to feign nonchalance.

"Get away from Hermione, Malfoy," Ron said, drawing his wand. Both of them were holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, and suddenly, Draco understood.

"Skeeter's picture," he whispered to Hermione. "It came out today."

Her sharp intake of breath told him that she understood him. "Harry, Ron, I can explain."

"Explain why you're hugging this piece of garbage on the cover of the Prophet?" Ron shouted, throwing the paper at her. "You lied to us, and you just keep lying, Hermione. What are we supposed to believe? Your next round of lies?"

"Can you blame her for lying to you?" Draco said, pushing Granger behind her. "Look at how you're acting!"

"Stay out of this, Malfoy!" Harry said, drawing his wand too. Granger groaned behind him and tried to push her way in front of Draco, but he was having none of it.

"The way I see it, Granger can be friends with anyone she wants, and if you were really her friends, then it wouldn't be that big of a deal."

"It isn't about who she's friends with," Ron spat. "It's about you using her to win the tournament."

Granger let out a low growl behind Draco and he turned to her, a confused look on his face. "Are you alright?"

She ignored him, but used his momentary lapse in vigilance to push past him to her friends. "Are you serious? He has been doing well in this tournament all by himself," she said. "Are you seriously upset that I might be helping him, which you haven't proven, by the way, or are you mad that because I've been spending time with him I haven't had time to do your blasted homework for you?"

Harry looked like she had slapped him. Ron's face turned, if possible, even redder.

"I expect he's the one who asked you to the ball," Ron said, his voice attracting the attention of other students who had begun to look for the inevitable conflict, copies of the newspaper in their hands.

"No, he isn't, but you know what?" Granger shrieked. "I would rather go with him than you, because at least they know I'm a girl!"

Draco smirked from behind her, amused at her positively terrifying transformation into a spitfire. Harry turned his wand on him. "What's so funny, Malfoy?"

"Watching her rip you to pieces is pretty hilarious, I have to admit," Draco said with a chuckle in his voice.

Harry raised his wand higher and Granger, seeing the possibility for a duel, drew her own wand and stepped in front of Draco, not unlike the same thing he had just done to her.

A silence fell over the grounds, and it was only then that Granger seemed to become aware of the huge crowd that was watching the events unfold. Harry looked like she had slapped him; Ron looked like he was about to explode. But she still held her ground.

"Granger," Draco said in her ear. "Granger."

She ignored him and placed her hands on his arms while she blocked him to ensure that he wouldn't move.

"Hermione," Draco said. "Don't do this to yourself. Not for me."

Granger didn't turn around at the sound of her first name, but he could feel her body tense. "I'm not doing this just for you, Draco," she said, returning the favor. "They insulted me too."

"Vat eez going on 'ere?" Viktor Krum's voice echoed through the silence. The crowd parted easily for him. "Herm-own-ninny, are you needing help?"

"No, thank you, Viktor," she said graciously even while Draco glared at him. Krum, however, didn't listen to her, and took up a spot in front of Draco next to Granger.

"You vill not be attackeeng Herm-own-ninny or Drago while I am heer," he said, drawing his own wand.

"Get out of the way, Krum, this has nothing to do with you," Ron shouted, raising his wand to point it at the small amount of Draco's face that was visible.

"What are you going to do, Ronald? Shoot a curse at your favorite Quidditch player and your best friend because you might hit a guy who picked on you?" Granger said into the ringing silence. "We all know your aim isn't that good."

A small but distinct "ooooh" echoed through the crowd and Ron flushed once more.

"That's my girl," Draco said, giving Granger a friendly punch on the arm that drew a smile from her.

"She isn't your girl!" Ron shouted, his voice cracking. "Get away from her, Malfoy!"

"Herm-own-ninny, maybe eet ees time to go," Krum said to her and to Draco out of the corner of his mouth.

"He's right," Draco said, grabbing Granger's wrist. "We should go."

"You're not going anywhere, Malfoy!" Harry said, raising his wand higher.

"Are we going to stand here at a stalemate all day then?" Granger shouted. "Grow a pair and curse us then, Harry. At least we'll all know where you stand. If you aren't going to do it, then we will all be on our way."

Harry hesitated, but Ron raised his wand to point at Granger. "You owe us an explanation," he growled, his eyes fixed on Draco's hand around her wrist. "Let's go."

"What is this?" Professors Moody, Flitwick, and McGonagall were shoving their way through students, their eyes fixed on the five students at the center of the fray. Following closely behind them was someone everyone recognized, but only Draco felt the true weight of his presence.

"Hello, Father."

**~DM&GOT~**

"Draco, I cannot tell you how proud I was when I heard that you were participating in the Triwizard Tournament," Lucius Malfoy began as he settled across from his son at the Three Broomsticks.

"I…I didn't…" Draco began, but Lucius, as usual, wasn't listening.

"Your mother and I regrettably missed your first task because we were not sure if your participation was a fluke or not, but we will not miss the last two," he continued. "However, this latest article is…troubling."

"Father, I didn't –,"

"Tut tut, Draco, we listen when our elders are speaking, so listen," Lucius continued. "I don't know what your entanglement is with this…Mudblood, but I assure you that it will not continue."

Draco's face twisted in an attempt to suppress his response, but he did not speak. Lucius looked pleased.

"I have told the committee that we do not know how your name got in the goblet, but I am definitely interested in hearing the story, son," Lucius said, leaning back onto the booth as Rosmerta put a plate of food in front of both him and Draco.

Draco, seeing this as his cue to speak, took his time in replying. He knew his response wasn't one his father wouldlike. "I didn't put my name in," he said, shoving a few chips in his mouth.

Lucius chuckled. "Son, you don't have to lie to me."

"I didn't put my name in," Draco said again. "I don't know who did, but if I find them, they will be very sorry."

"Draco, this is a good thing!" Lucius took a long drink of his firewhiskey. "You are bringing honor to the Malfoy name, and for once Potter isn't an opponent."

"So I don't have to worry about him beating me, right?" Draco said, eating more food, finding his anger was fueling his appetite.

"That's not what I said, Draco."

"But that's what you meant," Draco answered shortly. "Why did you come here?"

Lucius's eyes fell to an open copy of the Prophet that was occupying a barstool and Draco understood. "You came here so that you could scold me because of my relationship with a Muggleborn, right? Well you can save it. We don't have a relationship."

"That's good to hear," Lucius said calmly.

"Is it? Did you know that she's the only reason that I survived the first task?" Draco said, standing to tower over his father. "She taught me the spell I used to keep the dragon from ripping me to pieces. Instead of acting like a git, you should be thanking her."

"I will do no such thing," Lucius protested, his voice still infuriatingly calm.

"Then forgive me for not sticking around to finish this family lunch," Draco sneered.

"Draco, sit down," his father ordered, and Draco felt magic compelling him to sit back down.

"Are you Imperiusing me?" he asked incredulously, the magic trying to keep his mouth closed. "I cannot believe you."

"Then you should have listened to me," Lucius said, leaning forward in his seat, his voice dangerously low. "I am telling you that a relationship or even a friendship with that Mudblood will do nothing but hurt your future, and I can promise you that. I am ordering you to stay away from her, or you and I are going to reach an impasse, and that might lead me to act…rashly."

"Right," Draco snarled through the magic. "Like use an Unforgivable on your son."

"Exactly. Except next time, you might lose your inheritance," Lucius said, removing the Imperius curse. "I am warning you now: you will bring honor to this family, or you won't be a part of this family at all."

**~DM&GOF~**

"I have nothing to say to either of you," Hermione said, crossing her arms and turning away from Harry and Ron. Professor McGonagall, seeing three of her favorite students pointing their wands at each other, quarantined them in her office and shut them in, telling them they could come out when they fixed their problems.

"I really think if anyone has a right to be upset, it's us," Harry said crossly, his eyes fixed on Hermione's profile. "You're hanging out with Malfoy. There's a picture of you hugging him on the front page of the paper."

"And you know that Rita Skeeter publishes rubbish," Hermione snapped.

"But how did she get the picture, Hermione!?" Harry asked roughly. "Why won't you just tell us?"

"Because you aren't interested in listening to me," she said. "You just want me to tell you why so you can have a real reason to be angry with me."

"We're already angry with you," Ron said, his voice quiet. "We'd just like to know why you're lying to your best friends."

"Because you aren't acting like my best friends right now," Hermione said. "Nothing I say will change your mind about him."

"You're probably right," Harry reasoned, his voice soothing now. "So what's the harm in trying?"

"I felt bad for him," she said.

"How?"

"See, this is why I didn't want to tell you!"

Harry held up his hands to Ron. "Just let her finish. Why did you feel bad for him?"

"Because everyone was picking on him," she said. "And it just reminded me about how hard it was for you to deal with everyone talking behind your back, Harry, but you had us, you know?"

Harry nodded, but Ron already looked like he was tuning out the conversation.

"He doesn't have anyone," Hermione said, her voice gathering desperation.

"So you just volunteered yourself?" Ron burst out.

"No, I just…I wanted to see if I could help, and…well…he's not that bad."

Ron rolled his eyes. "He's Malfoy, Hermione, he's the worst."

"Well, he certainly acted more level-headed than you did out there, so who is the worst, really?" Hermione shot back.

"Can you blame us, Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry, I can," Hermione said, standing up. "And now that we've cleared this up, I think I have better things to do. Pretty much anything else."

"Hermione," Harry called her back. "We are trying to understand, just…don't expect us to get it just yet."

"I don't expect you to get it at all, Harry," Hermione said.

She didn't give him a chance to answer, but pushed past the spell that Professor McGonagall had put on the classroom and into the hallway.

"Herm-own-ninny," Krum was waiting for her, leaning against the wall.

"Viktor," she said with a smile. "Thank you for helping us back there."

He waved his hand like it was no problem. "I am theenkeeng zat you should go to ze ball with Drago," he said. "All champeeons need a date, and after zat…" he tilted his head at the grounds.

"I get it," Hermione said. She gave him a hug. "Thank you for being so understanding," she said, her arms still wrapped around him. "You're a very good friend."

"Eet ees no problem, Herm-own-ninny," Krum said, patting her back comfortingly. "Shall we keep studeeng togezer?"

Hermione laughed at his simple acceptance of everything, from her friendship with Malfoy to her fighting with her friends and even dropping her as a date without so much as a mean word. It seemed like Bulgarians were much more courteous and friendly than the English, she thought ruefully. With a sigh, she released herself from Krum's embrace and went to find Malfoy, a spring in her step that she hadn't had before.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I wrote this chapter once before, but I didn't like it, it didn't hurt me enough. So I'm rewriting it, and we'll see how this goes. If you're reading this, then I liked it. _

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

**Chapter Eight: Broken Promises**

Draco spent most of his walk back to the castle stewing over what his father had said. He had been used to his father's attitude after fourteen years, but he never thought he'd hear the words that his father had used on him. He never thought he would be told he was going to lose his inheritance if he didn't fall in line. However much Draco misbehaved at school, he was careful to remain in line in front of his family, especially his father.

But he had never planned to become friends with Hermione Granger. He had certainly never planned to like her.

It's common for teenagers, in the height of their own drama, to consider what they were going through as the pinnacle event of their entire adolescent lives. Draco Malfoy was not one of those children. He knew that eventually, this would be a very distant memory that wouldn't matter. He knew the affection he felt for Granger, if it could even be classified as affection, would pass. There was no reason for him to throw away his entire adult life for a flighty moment in adolescence.

He would have believed all of that, too, if he could forget about her.

He couldn't survive the other two tasks without her.

A scruffling sound shook him roughly out of his own crisis, and he found himself staring down at the picture that caused his entire world to explode. He scooped it up and retreated to a set of stairs to sit and read it.

_The Gryffindor Princess and the Slytherin Prince? _

_Even though Gryffindor and Slytherin are the two Hogwarts houses with the most bad blood and unnecessary enmity, this reporter managed to snap a picture of what looks like a true attempt at Inter-House Unity. Or is it something more than that? _

_In Draco Malfoy's interview a few weeks ago, he was very adamant about his dislike for Harry Potter and Ron Weasley (Harry Potter's friend), but made no mention of their female friend, Hermione Granger. Now, Hermione Granger has already been spotted on the arm of Bulgarian bonbon Viktor Krum and Harry Potter himself. It is no secret that Draco Malfoy is the heir to the Malfoy fortune, making him the wealthiest teenager in England. Is it possible that Hermione Granger is simply targeting her next victim? _

_Or is this a star-crossed lovers story? Will Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger forgo all of history and make their own? In doing so, it is possible they will lose not only the support of their friends, but their family and their school as well? This reporter is a sucker for a good romance story, but this one feels doomed to fail. _

_But don't tell them that. _

Draco rolled his eyes at Skeeter's blatantly absurd article and glanced up at the picture. He watched as Granger launched herself into his arms, and his own arms settled around her waist, squeezing her tight. He watched as he hitched her a little higher in his arms, their faces much too close together to simply be friends.

He didn't remember holding her that long. Her eyelashes fluttered, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, and Draco felt his own face heat up. It truly looked like Rita Skeeter had stumbled into a very intimate exchange, one they had probably had many times before this. There was no awkwardness, no fear, no dislike. Only…affection. And chemistry.

He shoved the paper away from himself, suddenly uncomfortable watching it again.

"Are you ever going to ask me to Yule Ball?" a short skirt and knee socks settled onto the step next to him. Pansy.

"I wasn't planning on it," Draco answered honestly. "I figured you wouldn't want to go with me."

She sighed, and pushed his hair out of his face. He automatically moved away from the kind gesture. "I've been your friend since we were in diapers, Draco. Of course I would go with you."

"Even after that?" his foot twitched in the direction of the newspaper. She stared at it, distaste evident on her pretty face.

"I admit, your fascination with the Mudblood is…irksome," she said, ignoring the way he tensed when she used the word. "But I'm willing to do you a favor. Champions have to open the dance, you have to have a date. And we both know it can't be her."

He nodded absently, not even realizing that he looked like he was forlorn at the idea of not being able to take Granger to the Yule Ball.

"Thank you, Pansy," he said softly, letting his head fall onto her shoulder, like he used to do when they were kids. She chuckled softly, but didn't answer.

That was how Hermione found him, five minutes later. Her face, that had lit up upon sighting him, fell sharply when she spotted who he was with. Immediately, he sat up straighter, removing his head from Pansy's shoulder, and surveyed her. They stood that way for a few seconds, the silence growing between them.

"I…I guess I'll leave you to it, Draco," she said politely. "Mudblood," she snarled at Hermione as she passed.

"Bulldog," Hermione greeted her in the same tone. Pansy huffed and picked up the pace, quickly leaving the two behind.

"I didn't know where to find you," he began lamely, unsure of how to continue.

Hermione's face was still stony. "You looked like you were trying really hard," she quipped.

He quickly descended the stairs to reach her. "That's not fair," he said.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Isn't it? I just got into a huge fight in front of the entire school and basically lost not only my friends but my Yule Ball date because of you and I find you snuggling up on Pansy Parkinson like today never happened."

He paused. "What happened to Krum?"

"That's what you got from that?!"

He reached out for her but she shoved his hands away. "Come on, Granger," he said soothingly. "It's been a rough day."

"No kidding," she said, and Draco was startled to see tears shining in her eyes. "I came here to ask you to be my date to the Yule Ball, but it seems like you don't need one anymore. So I'll go by myself, humiliated, once again, because of you."

This time, when Draco reached out for her, she settled into his chest, crying so hard her shoulders shook him. Neither of them spoke. There was everything to say, but neither of them had the voice to begin.

After a few minutes, and her sobs quieted, he led her up the stairs to the Room of Requirement, letting his arms remain where they were most comfortable: around her shoulders. She leaned heavily into him, like her day had sapped all of her energy, and he couldn't help but feel the same way. They were holding each other up, against the huge storm of the school, their friends, and their families. Draco noticed, however subconsciously, that Skeeter's article had been right.

"What do you want, Granger?" he asked her gently. She looked up at him, her wet brown eyes startled, and he hastened to add. "From the room."

"Oh…" she paused, thinking. "Blankets, pillows…books…and food."

He smiled at her obvious choices. The things Hermione liked the most: books, and a comfortable place to read them.

He obliged her, asking the room for a veritable feast of food, but on a low table surrounded by fluffy blankets and pillows, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of books. She sighed in relief as soon as the door swung open, and collapsed in a heap on the piles of fluff.

It took the entirety of their dinner before Draco had the courage to tell her what happened with his father. As he told the story, her face crumbled into dejection, sorrow, and ultimately, defeat.

"So that's why you're going to the ball with Pansy," she said, her voice sad.

"It seemed like a good idea when I thought you were going with Krum," he shrugged. She studied him closely, trying to read the subtext in his words. He decided to oblige her. "I wanted to go with you, but I thought you were committed to going with Krum, so I decided to with Pansy, and at least keep my father happy for a little while."

"And now?"

He paused, considering his next move. He watched her eyes flutter under his scrutiny; she pulled her lower lip into her mouth to nibble on it. Her wild hair, his favorite source of ridicule, was tied in an unruly ponytail behind her head.

"Promise you won't freak?" he asked, scooting closer to her.

She seemed to both tense and relax at his words, practically freezing at his close proximity. He chuckled, low in his throat, and reached for her hair. Very gently, he unclipped it, letting it fall around her face in the unruly waves he was so used to making fun of.

"Hermione," he said, using her first name again. "Promise?"

He was impossibly close now; he could feel her shaking in fear. She gave him the smallest of nods, and he closed the space between their mouths almost instantly, like he was already hungry for her. She responded immediately, her hands coming together at the nape of his neck.

He kissed her slowly but with a yearning that made her heart ache. His lips pulled at hers as if seeking ownership for a valuable heirloom that didn't belong to him. She, being inexperienced, had to pull away much sooner than she liked. His eyes stayed closed, but he clucked at her disapprovingly and pulled her head back to his.

"I didn't tell you that you could stop," he said softly against her lips. Hermione giggled at the thrill his simple statement gave her, and allowed him to kiss her again before she pulled away again.

"What was that for?" she asked, her voice unstable. He smirked at her, and she threw a pillow at him.

"I wanted to make sure this was worth it," he said calmly. She looked panicked, but he didn't elaborate.

"What is worth it?" she asked after a few minutes of agonizing silence.

He had risen and was writing a note on a piece of parchment that appeared on a desk that was not previously there. He pulled a small whistle from his pocket and blew it, bringing a small tawny owl to his arm. He attached the note to it and sent it on his way, all in one smooth motion, while he started writing another note. This one was much longer, and Hermione was practically stomping her foot with impatience by the time he was finished.

He still did not answer her, but leaned against the desk and waited for his owl to return. When it did, with another note on its leg, he untied it and tossed it to Hermione.

"That's for you," he said, attaching the second letter to the owl. This time, he gave the owl a treat before sending it on its way. It squawked affectionately at its master and took flight again. This time, Draco closed the window and settled next to Hermione again, who was staring at the note in her hand.

"Open it," he urged her. With a confused look, she pulled the note open.

"Draco…" she said slowly, as if she could not comprehend. "Why does this say that I'll be going to the ball with Viktor?"

"Because he helped protect me and you, and he deserves to have the most beautiful date on his arm. Besides, before I can have you on my arm publicly, I need to take care of a couple of legal matters first."

"Like…?"

"If it works, I'll tell you," he said, kissing her forehead. "Now, what color are you wearing to the ball?"

She hesitated, as if she wanted to question him further. "Why?"

"Indulge me."

She looked down, ducking her head in embarrassment. "You're going to laugh at me."

He did laugh, but not at her. "Only if you're going to go in Gryffindor colors," he teased, popping a grape in his mouth. "That's a little on the nose, don't you think?"

She watched him chew the grape and reach for another one. "Guess."

He raised his eyebrows at her in amusement. "Why, Miss Granger, are you challenging me?" he asked with a playful lilt to his normally serious voice. Hermione giggled and nodded, grabbing her own piece of food from the table and chewing it absently.

"Bet you won't get it," she sing-songed.

He feigned outrage. "I am offended that you don't think higher of my intellect." He paused. "Blue?"

"Nope."

"Purple?"

A shake of the head.

"Oh no, not pink?"

He got a pillow in the head for that one.

"Black?" he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"Please."

"Okay…hmmm…red?"

"Nuh uh."

"Merlin, are you waiting for me to guess chartreuse or something, because that's not even fair," he whined, falling back on the pillows.

She gave him a smug look that he recognized as one that often graced his own features. "Do you give up?"

"What colors are left?"

"White, green, gold, silver, yellow –"

"Please don't tell me you're going in yellow," Draco said in horror. "That would look awful on you."

"Gee, thanks."

He smirked at her offended response. "I speak the truth, Hermione. It isn't about feelings—Oh Merlin, you're going in green, aren't you?"

Her sneaky little smile told him he had finally hit the jackpot. He stared at her, mouth open, for a few seconds. "You sneaky little Gryffindor," he said, pulling her towards him, going in Slytherin colors like a little traitor."

She made an indignant noise but he was kissing her again, and the noise fell flat. She pushed him away, and he made his own indignant noise. "Why do you want to know?"

He gave her a look she could only describe as conspiratorial. "Because I want to match you, that's why."

She furrowed her brows. "But we aren't going together, why would you match me?"

"Just because we aren't going together doesn't mean I don't wish you were on my arm instead of Pansy," he said, screwing up his face at the girl's name just to make Hermione laugh.

"Doesn't that mean Pansy will have to wear green?" Hermione asked, looking disgusted at the thought.

"And imagine how bothered she'll be when she realizes she's nowhere close to the most beautiful girl there in green," Draco said wistfully, leaning back on the pillows again.

They stayed that way for a long time, talking about things that didn't really matter, worrying about their futures under their own facades. It wasn't about lying to each other; it was about cherishing every moment that wasn't dominated by everyone else's opinions and prejudices. In the Room of Requirement, where everything and nothing was real, it was possible to be anything you wanted. And Hermione and Draco took full advantage of it.


End file.
